Strange Emulsion

"There's something you need to see." Snape readjusted his robes with a swiftness that was almost disturbing, given that it left him covered, standing in the middle of the room, while Lupin struggled to disentangle himself from the tendrils of blankets and his own disheveled clothing.

"Right now?" He knew, as he sat on the edge of the bed, that he must look and sound rather pathetic, but he was actually hoping that that very display of guilelessness would persuade Snape to put off whatever errand seemed to have taken hold of him.

"Yes, right now, unless you want this to be nothing more than it has been." Without even moving a muscle, Snape communicated the idea of walking straight out the door.

Lupin sighed deeply and stood, slipping his feet into the well-worn loafers next to the bed. He scratched at the back of his neck and ran his fingers through his hair, freeing it from the collar of his shirt. He stood and stretched, knowing that each little superfluous movement was torture to the impatient Snape.

"You'll want your boots," was all Snape had to say. Lupin was annoyed at the statement, and its implication that they might be going far, and for long.

"Are we going outside?" he asked, clearing a chair so he could sit to put them on.

"No, but you'll want your robes too."

Lupin stared up at Snape as he laced his boots tightly, wondering where he was being taken that he would have to match Snape in severity of dress. Although his expression barely changed, the other man clearly did not enjoy being stared at. As Lupin looked, it seemed that Snape's facade of impatience and annoyance was covering a good deal of fear.

Walking down the hall next to Snape, he had to admit that the robes did make him feel more at home in the fire-lit corridors, more like a person with a right to be there. Still, the now familiar Muggle clothes beneath the flowing black cloth lent an air of comfort to a situation that was entirely uncomfortable. Instead of heading down into the dungeon, Lupin found himself led to a part of the castle he had never seen, still on the third floor, though down corridors he had never ventured into, and around corners that seemed to appear only as they were upon them. Though Lupin thought he had an idea of the scope of the castle, they walked for long enough that it seemed fatigue would overtake him.

"Where are you taking me?" he finally dared to ask. The path they were walking was dimly lit, as was the rest of the castle, but here the torches seemed to flare to light with a hesitation that bordered on reluctance.

"To my room." Snape's voice would have been barely audible save for its resonant depth.

"But your rooms are in the dungeon," Lupin protested when no further explanation seemed forthcoming.

"To my room, not my rooms," Snape corrected him, and was silent again.

Finally they stopped outside a heavy oak door, reinforced with strips of iron. It had a shimmering quality to it that reminded Lupin of the way the door to the Leaky Cauldron looked from the Muggle side of the street. Snape made a move with his wand as if to open it, then turned with a suddenness that made Lupin think only of anger.

"Do you trust me?" Snape's voice was firm but not harsh. Lupin paused, feeling that all the other events of the evening, or, probably, morning now, were very far away.

"Of course." He could think of no other response, given that he had already followed Snape willingly into a part of the castle that was in all likelihood unplottable and highly dangerous.

"Then give me your wand." Snape's open hand spoke more than his words could have; clearly, a refusal to give over the wand would be a negation of the past few hours.

"Why?" Lupin couldn't resist the simple question.

"If you trusted me, you would know I would not ask for it if it would not be safer for the both of us." His hand had not moved.

This is all that makes me human, Lupin thought unaccountably as he handed it over. He resisted the urge to shake his head to clear it of those words, as Snape was watching his face carefully even as the wand was being laid across his palm. Snape tucked it into his robes, and opened the door with his own wand. Lupin barely had a chance to glimpse the inside of the room--round, smooth walls--before Snape blocked the entrance with his body.

"You will come in when I send sparks through the keyhole," Snape instructed. "Until then, wait out here."

He was gone, and the door was closed before Lupin could make an answer.

As the minutes stretched on, Lupin began to feel rather exposed in the strange hallway, his wand as good as locked behind the closed door.

Sooner than he would have expected, a thin shower of pale silver sparks rained through the keyhole, and Lupin lifted his hand without thinking and pushed the door open.

The room was as his initial impression of it had been--a smooth-walled circular room, taller than many of the others in the castle, and, most disconcertingly, windowless. It was, at most, twenty meters in diameter, but its height made it seem narrower by comparison. Embedded in the wall directly opposite the door was a low fireplace, holding a stingy fire that seemed to burn without heat. Its light was bright, like a welder's torch, but like a torch, it glowed bright and caused his pupils to narrow, yet it did not sufficiently illuminate the chamber. In the middle of the room there was a tall shadow, and though nothing suggested it might be Snape other than the fact that nothing else had been seen to enter or leave, Lupin slowly approached the back-lit thing.

The door slammed behind Lupin as he walked, compounding the darkness. He shifted his steps so that the shadow blocked his direct view of the fire; with the light only reaching around the sides he could see that this entity clearly had the shape of Snape, yet the face seemed wrong. He was only five paces away when he realized that Snape's face was obscured by a mask--a smooth white mask whose edges faded into the folds of black fabric all around it.

Lupin fought the urge to reach for his wand, knowing full well that Snape had concealed it somewhere on his person. For a moment he considered letting his shock escape in a scream--why the hell had Snape brought him here? The supernatural stillness with which Snape was standing there told him that such a simple human response would be useless. He stood his ground, feeling out the situation with what animal instincts were left to him in his human form, and decided that any outward show of aggression he let go of would simply be redirected towards him while Snape was in this state. The guise of the Death Eater, it seemed, was far more than a symbolically frightening costume. Snape had brought him here to reveal his own transformation.

Lupin slowly and deliberately closed the gap between them, keeping his feet well apart on the off-chance that Snape might try to knock him over bodily. You'll want your robes, Snape's voice seemed to echo in his head, you'll want your boots too. Those simple clothes, though far from having the powers that the Death Eater garments were invested with, had their own properties that kept Lupin within the bounds of sanity, kept him feeling just safe enough to continue the exercise.

Lupin kept a couple of feet between them, as he would not be able to look Snape in the eye if they were any closer. Now he did not have to incline his head to see the flat plane where he guessed Snape's eyes should be. He took a moment to ponder his next move, noting that even that close there was no sign of breath, no sign of body heat. On the contrary, Snape's body seemed to be radiating a damp cold that was slowly seeping through Lupin's robes and onto his flesh, an odd compliment to the cold stone in the pit of his stomach.

He's under there, Lupin thought to himself, underneath that mask he is waiting. The thought kept him grounded, in the moment, while his mind threatened to fly off to some other place. The strange pale light of the fire flickered without any discernable rhythm, and he felt that he might have been standing there for whole minutes, or even an hour without knowing it. He felt in a place outside of time.

The fire's light seemed to come from all angles at once, leaving no shadow or texture on Snape's mask, and with Snape filling his view there was no perspective. Am I standing before Snape, or is he standing before me? The room seemed to spin without moving, then stopped when Lupin felt his wolf's intuition merge with the intellect that had been so threatened by the frightening situation. This was a task-- and intended or not, he would have to see it through. Lupin was less unnerved by the unnamed ordeal itself than by the idea that Snape might take the mask off before he had even figured out what the task really was, the idea that Snape might call off the whole strange experiment and leave Lupin without a means to prove himself.

"Severus." Lupin made the word come from deep in his stomach, made it almost as resonant as Snape's own voice. He took a few measured breaths before he trusted himself to speak again. "I know you're in there. I know it's only you." Still, the sight of the Death Eater, indistinguishable as Snape save for its height, nearly caused him to run. The urge to get away seemed to come in waves, and Lupin stood patiently, waiting to harness one of the good sides of the wave, the time when he felt no fear for the thing standing in front of him.

As he took a deep breath, Lupin felt the fabric of his own robe brush against him, rubbing against his bare arms and the softer cloth of the tee-shirt on his torso. Without the robe, he realized, he would feel naked, standing there in only his Muggle clothes. He breathed again, felt the cloth, and decided that was the trick. He would have to divest Snape of these garments before the task would be over.

He lifted his wand hand with the same purpose he would have shown had the wand actually been in it, and moved it towards the junction of the mask and the neck of the robes. There were no visible fasteners, but that had to be where they were concealed. As he had half expected, his hand was stopped about a foot away by a cold shield, an almost pliant sensation that increased as he pressed his hand closer. He thought of the way magnets behaved when their identical poles were presented to each other, and just as would happen then he was able to press his hand but a little closer before it was repelled, at an angle, beyond the beginning of the field.

"Severus," Lupin intoned again, well aware that names, especially first names, held a specific magic all their own. "Let me in." It managed to be a command and a request all at the same time, but by no means was it a plea.

He pushed his hand forward slowly, trying to incorporate the field of opposing force in his own flesh, tried to turn it back on itself with every innate magic skill he possessed. At times it seemed that his hand was barely moving, but finally his fingertips found something other than the supercharged air. Once the pads of his fingers had gained purchase on the rough surface of the robes, he gathered his will and forced the rest of his hand to join them.

It was fiendishly difficult to maneuver over the rough surface, and rather than pick at the robe searching for fastenings, Lupin contented himself to pressing on the robe. It did not give as cloth-covered flesh should have, but communicated, through his touch, the same qualities as fine steel--strength and resilience. As he pressed harder, he felt the signs of his hand being repelled again, the dizzying force that pressed him away. It was the robe; he was sure of it. The magic coming at him from that place had nothing of Severus in it, though he was the one cloaked in what was clearly a dark object.

"Not there then," Lupin murmured, making sure to keep his voice centered in the very pit of his stomach. If his tone veered into a higher pitch, he knew he would be lost. When he withdrew his hand, it tingled for a moment, but it did not burn as he had feared it would. The other hand he kept at his side, a reserve.

He raised his wand hand to the level of Snape's face, lifted it as if he were about to stroke the white mask for a sign of the human beneath, but the fear that touched him with that gesture was too great to risk. He moved it sideways, with the grain of the force, until it rested before the slight gap between the hood and the curved side of the mask. Forming his hand into a plane, he pressed his fingers into that space.

The opposing force there was not as great, as he had suspected it would not be. The human brain could withstand only so much, even with the augmentation of dark magic. Still, as he pressed forward into that unseen space he encountered no flesh.

"Severus, I know it's only you in there." His voice was firm, and he prayed that Snape could not hear the lie in his words. He was anything but sure that Snape existed in any form beyond the mask, yet he kept pressing.

The strong resilience he encountered was somewhat like the cloak itself, yet it was clearly flesh. Lupin pressed his fingers into the cool surface of Snape's jugular, unsurprised, yet still disconcerted, to feel no pulse there. For the first time, he felt Snape's presence in the room, felt as though he was being watched, though from what angle he could not be sure.

Not daring to let his fingers leave the skin even for a moment, Lupin drew them forward. Like everything else on the strange map that had become Severus' body, the action of tracing that short distance took far longer than Lupin could have imagined it would have, yet he kept his fingers steady. It would not do to allow a hesitation there to betray his apprehension at what sensation a touch to the mask itself might impart.

It had an edge like a razor; that he could feel at once. Though his arm ached to the shoulder from being held out for so long he held his fingers steady, reminding himself that most cutting was done by sliding, not pressing.

He pressed as hard as he dared, straining his muscles until the blade began to dig into the layer of dead skin. If that broke, the sharp pain that would result would mean all would be lost. Though he did not yet know what might be at stake, he backed off, resuming his position against Snape's jugular. This time, as he paused to collect his thoughts, he could feel the faint thrum of a heartbeat beneath the skin, and the steady measure reassured him. Without it he had been able to imagine being stuck in the room forever, in a timeless limbo of frustration. He pressed his fingers in deeper, hoping he might elicit some response, some twitch from the stoic figure before him, but even the quickened pulse might have been his imagination--he was pressing so hard his own heartbeat was manifesting itself in his fingertips. As he had hoped, the pressure gained him a margin of space, and he slipped his fingertips behind the surface of the mask, so they were beside the blade rather than upon it.

"I'm going to take your mask off now, Severus," Lupin whispered. For the first time, he felt the column that was Snape's body flinch beneath his hand. He pulled, but there was no give, not even the barely sensible flex of thick steel. He stifled the urge to groan and took a step forward to relieve the pressure on his bent arm.

He had not remembered the pressure that surrounded Snape's robe, and as he stepped forward, it held rather than repelled him, and he fought the panic that came with finding himself in a trap. To leap back would be to lose the purchase he had on Snape's flesh; to stay would be to accept the trap. He moved both his feet forward, so that he and Snape were toe to toe.

When Lupin pulled at the mask, there was a barely perceptible give, a tugging as if the mask was part of the thick flesh of his cheek. He paused, certain this was causing Snape pain, before remembering that Snape had gotten them both into this situation to begin with. He resumed pulling, but with every fraction of an inch he gained the skin beneath seemed to rise to meet it when his muscles rested.

Lupin breathed in deeply through his nose, not wanting to risk the luxury of a sigh. There had to be a way to get the mask off--its very give hinted that it might be possible to peel it off. Relinquishing the feeling of stability it gave him, he lifted his other hand and worked it behind the opposite side of the mask. It was more difficult than the first side had been, as it was being pressed into Snape's flesh by the opposite hand's hold, but once his fingers were behind it the grasping hold Snape's face seemed to have on the mask lessened somewhat.

He was pressed against Snape now, his entire body held in the magnetic feeling field, and, like a real magnet, the pull was exerting no small toll on his body. He fought the urge to rely on the mask for balance, and took another deep breath to force down the vertigo that threatened to overtake him. Holding tighter to the mask, pressing even closer, the human contours of Snape's body began to show themselves in barely perceptible variations in the rough cloth. The simple sensation of feeling Snape take a breath of his own was enough to take Lupin out of the haze of terror the vertigo had pushed him into, and he redoubled his grip on the mask. It was letting go now, he was sure of it, though it seemed that some magical adhesive was keeping it close to Snape's face.

Hardly knowing what he was doing, Lupin pulled hard on the mask, enough to raise his own face to the line of Snape's jaw. The clearance he had gained there was clear enough even in the dim light, a strip of white skin, glowing against the black of the robe but not nearly as white as the mask itself. Lupin tilted his head to one side, and nearly let it rest at the junction of Snape's neck and shoulder.

"Snape," Lupin whispered, consciously placing more breath in the sound than was necessary, "Severus, let me in." He breathed again on that place, pulling on the mask, and finally he felt what he'd been hoping for--a cracking, breaking kind of give, like the seal on an old envelope, or the thwarted grasp of a grindylow. He took a step backwards as he pulled, and as the mask came free he stumbled and dropped it. He found himself staring at it, half enthralled by the sight of it, inanimate, on the floor, and half unwilling to look at Severus.

When he looked up, it seemed that Snape was not as tall as he had been. He lifted one of his hands, and Lupin fought to keep from flinching, but as he watched all Snape did was release the now obvious clasp at his neck, and the robe fell away, the wide sleeves barely glancing off his hands and landing in a heap at his feet. It was only when Snape stepped forward that Lupin took a good look at his face. His skin, formerly so pale but even, now had the aspect of grained wood, with various vertical red lines covering him from forehead to chin.

"Did I hurt you?" Lupin asked. He was surprised to find that his voice was still steady, though he was not giving it the concentration he formerly had.

"No," Snape said simply, his voice immeasurable. It was impossible, Lupin realized, to tell if he was lying or not, and he would probably never know. Snape stepped forward, his hands held slightly out, and Lupin allowed himself to be drawn into his embrace.

The heat of his body was shocking; in the indeterminate space of time Lupin had become accustomed to the damp cold that the robes had been throwing off.

"I never intended for you to have to touch me," Snape said, and Lupin felt as well as heard the words, the resonance within Snape's ribs. "I only wanted for you to see me like this."

"What else was I supposed to do?" Lupin had his eyes closed against the lingering horror of the room. Despite Snape's warmth, the aura of evil pervaded the place.

"I am not sure what I expected." Snape's voice was close to flat, revealing neither shame nor disappointment, and Lupin opened his eyes, to see if some meaning could be divined from the face. The red marks were fading, and the firelight was now that of a normal hearth, no longer enchanted to send out light that was like a blindingly bright version of darkness. "I thought you would leave."

"It never occurred to me that I could." It was childish, but he closed his eyes again, closing out the still frightening scene. Whenever he opened them, the mask seemed to stare at him in reverse, its concave side glinting weirdly warm in the light.

Snape stepped out of the circle of the Death Eater robes, guiding Lupin before him. Lupin felt him free an arm and point at the fire behind them; a few muttered words and the space behind his eyelids was dark.

In another moment there was light again, but even with his eyes closed he knew it was different, a broader, brighter glow. As he picked his head up his nose was filled with a familiar bouquet of smells--leather, wood, tea. He opened his eyes, only to see the familiar rug before Snape's hearth.

"I Apparated us," he said, only a hint of apology in his voice. "It's not far, but I couldn't stand to be there a moment longer."

"I didn't think you could Apparate in Hogwarts," Remus said, slightly dazed. I sound like Lily, he thought to himself with alarm.

"Most people cannot. I can." Remus could practically feel the smirk that came with those words as Snape pressed his lips to his temple. "Only between that room, and my chambers," he admitted in a murmur. His voice was sad, and the smirk was gone from it as he remembered the times when such speed was necessary, and the kindness Dumbledore had shown him with the accommodations, meaning the robes and even the fireplace he used never had to be in his chambers.

It was impossible to tell who was leading who as they approached the welcoming surface of the couch, their arms and legs a tangle as they fairly fell on to it.

"So here we have it," Lupin said, unable to abandon the humor that served him so well. "A tame werewolf and a tame Death Eater."

"It would seem that there is not much more to say." Snape sat stiffly, but relaxed into the curve of the couch when he felt Lupin's arm behind him. Lupin shifted slightly and slipped his hand on to the bare skin of Snape's back, still relieved, even outside the confines of that room, to find it warm.

"Oh no," he said, as he pressed his hand around to Snape's side. "There is always something more to say." He moved his hand until his arm was firmly wrapped around Snape's slight waist, pulling him close. Just when he thought their bodies were still Snape was pulling on him too, and even once they were facing each other their hands did not stop. As in the trial of pulling the mask off, they pushed and pulled with incredible slowness, but never ceased moving.